The sun won't be up for another hour or two, but the street lights are bright enough to guide you. Your legs ache. You missed the bus by just a few minutes, and now instead of getting a ride home, you're walking. You try to ignore it, but each step grinds against your feet. Your feet ache, your legs ache, your body aches. And you've got a headache. You try to ignore it and instead they cycle through your head again. Next time you'll be quicker, this isn't happening again, you swear to yourself.

It's only another few minutes, though it feels like an eternity till you finally arrive home. You make it up the steps and you've got your keys in your hand when you pause. It's already open. There's a gap between the door frame and the door. Not big enough for anyone on the street to notice, but... You try to think as you stand there. Did you leave it open? Did you really forget to shut and lock it? No, there's no way you did, you're always careful about that.

You hesitate. Maybe you should contact someone, just in case of a break-in, in case they're still inside. But what if they're already gone? The process of calling and waiting and then the paperwork, your head pounds at the thought. There's not even anything to show someone broke in, maybe you really did just leave it open. You reach for the handle and push open the door a little. You peek in. It looks fine. Nothing taken, no mess, no break-in signs. You close the door behind you, nothing to worry about then.

Reaching down to pull off your shoes, you see a light coming from down the hall. It's faint, just a sliver, probably from the bathroom. A shock of adrenaline courses and you straighten. Now, inside your silent home, without the noises from outside, you can hear labored breathing. Fear twists in your gut, a pained muffled yell bounces out and you breathe shakily.

The bathroom door is mostly open and a man is sitting in your bathtub, stitching up a wound on his calf. Your first aid kit sits on the toilet seat lid, some of the contents are bloodied and strewn about. He's heavily scarred, even with half his body in the tub, it'd be hard not to notice. He looks... rough. Even beyond the scarring. The injury on his leg is the worst of them, blood seeps between the black thread, and is spilling from the bit not yet closed. Blood is also dripping down his face, a cut maybe in his hairline. Scrapes and bruises and scars paint the rest of his skin.

You must make a sound, you don't mean to, but his head shoots up. His eyes widen almost comically. "..." You open your mouth, but you can't even think of what to start with. Are you okay? Who are you? Are you going to hurt me? What the hell happened? They flash across the tip of your tongue but nothing comes out.

"Sorry," he says, breaking the silence. He sounds, for some reason, seriously apologetic. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

You start a little. Right, usually on Tuesdays you clocked out at five AM, but your boss had changed your schedule for the first time in months and now you were clocking out at four. How did he know that? "This is my home," is what comes out of your mouth. "You broke in."

He doesn't move from his spot as you step back. "Maybe you should check your doors better before you leave." He says casually, finally looking away and back to his leg. "I wouldn't have come in if you weren't waiting with open doors."

It sounds like a joke, but you don't know what that could mean. "I always lock it." You say, but maybe you didn't, you try to remember.

"That's pretty dangerous, y'know? Good thing it's just me who found it."

It's not a good thing at all, but his voice hitches as he tries to finish stitching and you can't just let him like this. "Here," you raise your hands a little as you come into the room and start to wash your hands. "Let me help. Have you even sanitized the needle? Or the injury?"

"I burned the needle, that gets rid of the germs, right?"

You huff and grab your first aid kit. "You have to clean the injury too." You kneel by the tub, peroxide in hand. Your knees immediately start to protest, but the sooner you can help him, the more inclined he'll be to just leave.

He grins and offers you the needle with a shaky hand. "Next time," he says it like a promise. "I'll clean it then."

There won't be a next time is what you want to say, but you sigh. Metal and charcoal scents mix horribly with the open peroxide, and you can feel your headache growing. "Alright, stranger, I'm gonna hold you to that."

"Dabi," His stare is intense, boring into you suddenly. "You can call me Dabi."

"Okay. Dabi, I'm sorry, this is going to hurt."

---

You hum along with the radio as you wash the last few dishes in the sink. The sun is sinking slowly in the sky, but it's your day off so you don't have to worry about getting ready or work or anything, just a nice night to yourself. No sooner has the thought of finally picking up that book you bought ages ago entered your head when arms wrap around your middle, squeezing you tight against a muscular chest.

Maybe you should feel worse about this, about Dabi basically breaking into your house whenever he wanted. Like every time before, you hadn't heard him come in. You haven't even given him a key. But these are dangerous thoughts, and just like when you see his name on the news, you turn them off.

Dabi rests his chin on top of your head, you pointedly don’t think about how you can never tell if you’re alone or not in your home. He can't read minds, that's not his quirk, but somehow he's so fast to pick up on your moods and you don't want your doubt to show. His hands slide up and down your waist. "How's my baby doing?" He asks, voice raspy.

You huff a laugh, smile, and nudge his hands with your elbows, your own too soapy to touch him with. "I'm fine, I'm almost done, go sit down and lemme finish!"

His hands run up your shoulders and give you another squeeze before he lets go. "Alright, alright." You can hear him behind you, settling down on your couch. "Hurry up, I'm dying over here."

 Dying, you could laugh. As if skin-to-skin contact with you was that important. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Sure."

Finishing the last dish, you dry your hands before grabbing the coffee pot. You start to fill it with fresh water and you can hear the couch springs squeaking in protest as Dabi gets up. You glance behind you, as he slouches against the doorway into the kitchen. "It's gonna be a few minutes," you smile at him. "Sorry for the wait."

He shrugs nonchalantly but doesn't move until you've started the machine, waiting till you turn around to finally sit back down. His legs spread over the couch, he likes it best when you sit in his lap, with your back against his front. Something about being so close to you... You don't know what it is exactly. He doesn't like talking about anything too close to emotional, prefers actions over any words.

And it's easier to just go along with it so you sit down with him and let him grab you and hold you close. It's like he's been holding his breath and suddenly you can feel him release it, tension dripping out like water. "How's it been?"

You try to think of when you last saw him, what all has happened since then. The truth is not much. It's a quiet life for the most part. "It's been good," you say. You go through the days, summarizing them up easily, and everything is fine till you mention your co-worker a second time.

"Y'know, I'm getting a little tired of hearing about this guy."

You shut your mouth, unsure of what to say. "We work together, I don't know what I can do about that." You try to joke before pushing yourself out of his arms.

"Wait, wait, don't leave," his voice is almost testy as he grabs your wrist.

You gesture to the kitchen. "The coffee's ready, I'll be right back." 

A moment passes before he lets go of you. "I could do something," he says as you walk away.

"Do something about what?" You grab a mug down from the shelf.

"About your co-worker, if he's bothering you."

Fear pricks at the back of your neck but you refuse to let it control you. "Dabi, I promise, he's not bothering me. I'm sure you're friends with your..." The images you've seen of the league flash in your mind's eye. "Your co-workers. You know how it is." He's quiet as you fix his drink. "Here you go," you cross over and hand him the coffee. "Just how you like it."

He takes the mug gently, rough fingers drag over yours. "You know me, I'm a problem fixer." He grins but there’s something dark in his eyes. "I wanna fix your problems, baby."

You can't let him know how much that bothers you or he might blame it on your co-worker. "I'm fine," you say with a smile. "No problems here.

Anyway, I think that's about all for me. What about you? Anything new in your world?"

The look on Dabi's face lets you know he knows you're trying to change the subject. But you do ask about him every time you see him, even though he never seems to want to talk about himself. He takes a sip as you slide back into your spot. Information has to be dragged out of him, but he's been trying lately to be more open. You can feel it, the way he tenses when he says something too close to his heart, like he's waiting for you to take those words and hurt him.

The couch is so old the cushions don't hold up like they used to, and the middle dips, so before long you have to squirm your way back against him. He sets the mug on your coffee table and wraps his arms around you again. "Yeah," he starts. "It's been. Good. Yeah, since I last saw you. No new injuries or nothin'."

"Your boss taking it easy on you?"

"Nah, I'm just being more careful," you giggle as he rubs his cheek against yours. "Need to make sure I come home safe and sound."

You know he's going to tease you about it, but your eyes start to water and you sniff and shake your head. He thought of your home as his home? It might as well be, whenever he's not doing league business, he's here with you. And you had hoped that he would think of you and your home like a well. Someplace to be replenished, where he could rest and be restored. Cold refreshing water to a dry throat.

Like he can feel your mood, he turns your head towards him, searches your face for something. Whatever he sees pleases him and he kisses you. It could've turned into more, but he laughs suddenly and ruins the moment. "What're you crying for, baby?" He wipes at your cheek, grinning. "You don't like me calling this place home?"

"No, no, that's not it." You shake your head and sigh, turning back around and laying your head against his chest. "I want you to feel like this is your home. I'm happy you're happy."

He pets your head. "Of course I'm happy. As long as you're with me, I'll be happy."

---

Rain is pouring down hard as you make it to your front door. Your hands scramble in your purse for your keys, it feels like an impossible task at the very edge of home. Your umbrella hasn't been enough for this type of rain and you're soaked. Finally, you turn the key and run inside, slamming the door behind you. Sighing, you nearly fall back against the door. You're exhausted, soaked to the bone, you shiver in the warm air. You peel off your shoes, then your jacket, and you try to ignore how quiet your house is.

Dabi hasn't been by in nearly a month, and you're not sure if that's a bad thing. You know he misses you, every couple of days you get a text, or even sometimes a call from an unknown number. His voice fills your ear as he tells you how much he wants to be there with you. You understood, without him telling you, that it had to do with his work. And you were fine with that. You could wait. Still, when you got home from work you would walk through the house, not calling for him, but looking, hoping, that he was there. He never was.

You would've kept waiting too if it hadn't been for a newscast you saw just a few days ago. The league had... it was always in the back of your mind that they were villains, that to be called the league of villains they must do villainous things, it just... didn't seem real. The way Dabi treated you, the way he talked about everyone in his group... You felt stupid as you watched the destruction, the innocent bystanders who got hurt for being too close. You should've known better, you shouldn't have made excuses. You scowl as water drips from your hair and onto the floor. You leave your wet stuff by the door, you'll deal with it later.

After a quick shower, you get changed. You glance up at your reflection, pausing for a moment. You look tired, more than a physical tired, you look weighed down. You frown and look away. It's just a bad night, maybe tomorrow you'll feel better.

You open the door and shriek. Immediately Dabi covers your mouth with a hand. "Fuck, that hurts my feelings." He laughs and lets you go.

You stare. He almost looks as bad as when you first met him. Blood and dirt, but he doesn't look hurt. What happened? Your throat feels like it's closing up. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I come here?" His eyes narrow and his smile drops.

He's blocking the doorway, there's nowhere to go from here. It feels like you're seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time. Months ago you weren't scared of him. What was there to be scared of when he so obviously cared for you? When he would never hurt you? But that was then. Now, something is twisting in your gut and your instincts are telling you to run. How could you have been so wrong about him? "I saw what you did, on the news. They've been replaying the footage for days. Dabi, if they find you here they'll think I helped, that I'm complicit, Dabi, why are you here?"

His face falls, something depressingly heart-broken before it shutters up and there's nothing there. "This is my home," he says. "You said it was my home. Of course I'm fucking here."

"... You’re right, I’m sorry," your mind feels like it's struggling in mud for a second. "Are you hurt?"

You reach towards him, cradling his cheek, and he leans into your touch. "No, I'm fine. Listen, I'm still stuck, did you really think I wouldn't be back?"

You did think he'd come back, you just didn't want him to. "No, I knew you'd be back. It's just... been so long."

"I texted and called as much as I could."

"I know, I appreciated it, thank you."

"... I'm not going to bring anyone straight to our door. Nobody's gonna find us. Even if they did, I'd kill them before they took you from me."

He's serious, and it makes you sick, the thought of him killing anyone for you. "Please don't say that, you don't ever have to do that."

"What, you want me to lie to you?" He laughs dryly, before walking away towards the living room.

Warnings flash in the back of your head, but you follow him anyway. "I'm not saying lie to me, I-I just don't think you should say things like that."

He drops onto the couch. "All this time I missed you, I kept thinking how much you must miss me too. Y'know, I just had to get through the day. One foot in front of the other and sooner or later I'd be here: Home. Now I'm here, and I don’t really feel welcome.”

"No, that's not it!" You make yourself sit next to him and reach for his hands. "I missed you so much, I'm so happy you're back!" He doesn't look at you even as you thread your fingers together. "I'm sorry, I was just so worried. It doesn't even feel real that you're back! I think," you stammer for a moment, trying to think of something, anything. "I just don't want you to get..." Caught? Arrested? Killed? "Caught. Please, forgive me, I'm sorry I upset you."

Finally, Dabi turns his head. "It’s fine, doll. Y’know, I’ve always wanted a nice little life. Something small, cozy, lots of love.”

“Oh, really?”

“I want that life with you. Since I first saw you, it’s only been you. You’re everything to me. Don't forget that."

A chill goes up your spine as he pins you with a look. "I-I won't."

A smile spreads across his face and he finally relaxes onto the couch. He pulls you into his lap and pushes your head down so it's resting on his chest. "You know you're mine, right?" He murmurs into your ear. "Nothing's going to take you away from me. Say it."

Hizashi absently caresses your wrist with one hand and scrolls through his phone with the other.  The tv flickers, casting light into the otherwise dark room. The volume’s been turned down a little, the evening getting later and later, but you aren't paying attention anyway. Glazed eyes as people live their lives... even if the story ends badly, the actors still get to go home at the end of the day. You shift in his lap; the babydoll slip he put you in earlier is cheap and the lace scratches under your thighs. There's no telling when Shouta will finally make it home, so you're stuck for a while.

He drops his phone beside him and sighs before looking over you. "I think you've got too many layers on," he slides a hand up the dress and kneads your belly, warmth seeping where he touches.

Your stomach twists under his touch, it'd been such a nice quiet evening so far. "There's only one layer, Hizashi." You try to joke, resting your hand on his arm. You know he won't like it, will think you're trying to push him away. "Can't we wait till Shouta gets home?"

His hand stills. "He won't care that we started without him. C'mon, baby, throw me a bone. Gimme something to work with."

"Please, I'm really tired, and we're so comfortable like this, let's just wait!"

He frowns. "What's your problem?"

'I just want a few hours without being fucked'? 'I'm tired of being treated like a sex toy'? You can't say anything like that, but the phrases repeat and repeat on the tip of your tongue. You close your eyes and shake your head. "Please Hizashi," you beg.

His fingers tap a rhythm against your skin. "... I'm so fucking tired of this."

What do you say? How can you mitigate this disaster? "I-I'm not trying-"

"Yeah, exactly, you're not trying at all." He scoffs. "Me and Shouta treat you like a princess. For months, all we've done is keep you safe and happy."

Fear and anger are broiling in your stomach and you feel sick. You shouldn't have said anything at all, and maybe it's the undercurrent of tension between you and Hizashi ever since your escape attempt, but you can't stop yourself from asking, "why are you doing this to me?" It feels stupid to ask as if you don't know the answer, and he must think so too.

He cups your face, fingers digging only a little too hard. "I'm not doing anything besides loving you. I've loved you since I first saw you. Do you know how painful it is to love someone and then they refuse to give you a fucking chance?"

"You didn't give me a chance. You - you just fixated on me, took me before I even got to know you!"

Something flashes across his face, angry and pinched, like he's disgusted. As he searches your face, a cold sweat laces your skin.  "That's not true," he finally says. "I loved you, I only did what was best for you."

"You don't kidnap people you love, you just wanted a live-in doll!" Tears well up in your eyes. "It could've been anybody, I was just there first." That makes you sick. You don't want to be here, you don't, but the idea that Hizashi would've picked anyone else... You want to slam your head against the wall, cut out whatever fucked emotion makes you so desperately sad at the thought of him not wanting you.

"Baby, baby, that's not true." He laughs. "Do you really think I woulda put me - put Shouta - through all this shit from you if I didn't want you?!

Don't you think after all your ungratefulness, the way you treat us as if we're the fucking bad guys here - don't you think if we didn't love you-!" His mouth snaps shut and he stands up. He paces away from you, shoulders raised, hands clenched by his sides. "And you go and act like you're some fucking victim, like you didn't ask for this."

"I didn't! I never asked for this! I didn't want this!" You yelled.

"Yes, you did!  You ran into trouble, trying to get our attention, trying to make us notice you.

"And look at you now. Got everything you could ever want, two boyfriends who love you, who take care of you - fuck, you scream our names enough I know we make you happy. You like it when I fuck you, when Shouta fucks you. You like being ours!"

You shook your head hard, your throat closing up, is this really what he believed? Did you lead him on? Were you doing that? "Please," you push the word through. "I wanna go to bed, Hizashi, please."

"I knew that taking you would be what's best for you. When you're in a good mood, you can barely control yourself around us; who knows what kind of trouble you could've gotten yourself into." He sneers at you. "You want to go to bed?" He grabs you and forces you against his crotch, you can feel through his jeans he's already getting hard. "If you make me cum, maybe I can forgive you."

You don't want to, how many times do you have to say that you don't want any of this? When will it change things? Hizashi bends a little and wipes a few of your tears away.

"I'm not gonna wait forever."

You start to kneel and he shakes his head. "No, wait, take off your outfit. Can you do that without any help?"

You don't bother replying, ripping it above your head and off before you can say something that gets you into more trouble. Settling on your knees in front of him, you glance up, he still looks angry.

"Well?"

Numb hands unzip his jeans carefully. You pull out his cock and reach to give it a little lick. He groans above you, his hands fall onto your shoulders. You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, before pulling back to give it a little kiss. Your face burns as you do it, but he likes it so much, and you'll do anything to make the night go a little faster.

It doesn't seem to affect him as much as it usually does, as he pushes your head right back till he's seated deep inside your wet mouth.

"C'mon, you can take it, be my good girl," Hizashi pants, gripping the back of your head tight and bobbing your face up and down his cock. "My good girl, my baby, fuck, I love you." You whine, unable to reply more than that.

You can feel his hips twitch before he catches himself. You hold onto his thighs, trying your best not to let him fuck through your mouth and out the back of your neck. Your mind races, trying desperately to leave the moment, to be anywhere other than here. But another too-hard thrust makes you gag. "You wanna choke on it, don't you?" He grunts, "you like it, you're such a good cock-slut."

You wriggle against his hold, you can't take it anymore, you're going to vomit. He doesn't let up and you finally pound your hand against him. He must get the hint, he pulls you off. You choke on air, heaving and gasping for breath.

"Aw," he tisks and grabs your chin. "I was almost there, baby, you couldn't hold it together any longer?" You shake your head and he sighs. "You do look really cute like this. Puffy faced..." He cradles your head, thumbing over tear tracks. "Just the most pathetic thing." He pulls you in for a kiss, and you let him. You're too tired, you want to go to bed, you don't want to fight back.

"C'mere," Hizashi pulls you up to your feet and pulls you towards the hallway.

"..." You look at him, unsure what's happening next, but desperately hoping he's bringing you to your room.

He notices and laughs. "No, no, baby, we're not done yet." And then you're headed into his room. You drag your feet as if taking a few more seconds will delay the inevitable. "Hurry up, don't keep me waiting."

And you obey, there's nothing left to do except obey and wait for Shouta to get home or for Hizashi to finish.

"Alright, now get on the bed."

You crawl onto the bed, the blankets bunching up around your knees and then your elbows. This is always so humiliating, your face warm in embarrassment, tear-stained cheeks. You clutch at the blankets beneath you.

He whistles before grabbing your hips and pulling you close. "This is such a good look on you. Wish Shouta was here for this," he muses, humping against you slowly. His jeans scrape against your skin.

His hand dips lower between your thighs, and strokes you. "What's this?" He doesn't sound surprised. "You're getting wet!" His hand slips away and he wipes it on your back. "That's so weird, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I mean, didn't you get 'kidnapped' by me? Didn't you get 'raped' by me? How're you getting so fucking wet for me then? Don't fucking move." He stops touching you, you can hear him fiddling with his zipper. "You should be thanking us, for keeping you after everything you've done."

He doesn't wait to make sure you're ready, he thrusts hard into you, bottoming out within seconds. You cry out, it's painful but as he starts a rhythm, it feels better and better.

"You're a liar, I know you are! You take me so good, baby, how could you do this if you hated me? Do you want me to stop?"

You hesitate, you do, but you can't say that.

"Say you want my cum, tell me to cum inside you," he's panting as he slows down, pulling out of you almost to the tip before pushing back in. "Tell me you're so happy here, tell me you love me, tell me and I'll stop."

He won't, you know that, but it doesn't stop you from obeying. "Hizashi, please -" you moan. "Please cum inside me!"

He slaps your ass. "That's not all I told you to say."

"I'm," you don't want to say it. It isn't true. Even as he fucks you and you try to rock back into him, trying to chase your own orgasm, you could never be happy here. Tears leak out of your eyes. "I'm happy here, I love you, please Hizashi!"

He doesn't stop, just fucks you harder.

"Hizashi!" You cry, "you said you'd stop, you said you would!"

 It doesn't take much longer until he's spilling inside of you. He humps you slowly, keeping you tight against him as if he's trying to push his seed further into you.

It probably lasts only a minute at most, but it feels like an eternity before Hizashi flops onto the bed next to you, his breathing already back to normal as he pulls you into his arms. You're still crying and he wipes at your face gently. "Aw, baby, what's the matter?"

Your eyes are red and swollen, you've been crying on and off all night. It feels like you can't have any left, but you feel them dripping out of your eyes and down your cheeks. "You said you'd stop..." It sounds stupid and whiny even to yourself, like your head is full of fluff.

"Baby, baby," he hushes you. "I know what's best for you. Always. And tonight you didn't need me to stop, you needed me to fuck you and cum in you. You said it yourself."

"Bec-cause you said you would stop if I said that." You shiver in his arms. "And, I- I didn't get to..."

"Didn't get to cum?" You nod. "Did you really think you were going to tonight? After your horrible behavior earlier?" He pinches your nipple before letting go and sweeping his hand over your side. "After everything, you thought I was gonna let you cum? You're such a dummy." He kisses the side of your head.

It's quiet for a few moments as you lay together. "Maybe we should get a treadmill or something." He pinches the soft bit of your stomach lightly. "You look like you've gained some weight. I mean, it'd be one thing if you were pregnant," he pats your belly. "Then it'd be totally fine, but you're not even pregnant. Not yet. Just getting a little chubbier, aren't you?"

You go to stop him and he reaches you halfway, twining your fingers together. "Hizashi-"

"It's okay, baby, I'll still love you even though you've gotten bigger. I'll always love you."

He holds you right next to him. It's a baseless threat, not that he or Shouta knows it yet. There's a small plastic birth control insert, rigid under the flesh of your arm. You still have at least another year on it, maybe a year and a half. You don't touch it in front of him, don't want him to ever know about it. As long as they don't know, they can't force you into anything more than this. Still. That's only going to last until they realize.

You're starting to fade, it's been a long evening, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Your mind drifts, and you can't reconcile with yourself the emotions of earlier. You were upset, like he'd betrayed you, at the thought of not being chosen. It's what happens when you're trapped with your kidnappers for too long. You know it's some kind of syndrome, studied and proven and you're not immune.

What happens when you really get under it? When you can't fight it off? What happens when they don't need to find out about your birth control, you'll just tell them about it because you don't want to ever upset them? You can feel it happening, your senses always fluctuating between too muffled and too sharp. Uncomfortably smothering and yet pinpricking. Their wanting and taking doesn't seem to have an end, what happens when there's nothing left of you?

—

The world is spinning around you, too big and closing in too fast all at once. You stumble onto a bench and drop down, burying your face in your hands. A sigh shudders through you and you try to count the seconds, but you keep losing count and you can't shake this horrible, awful feeling that -

"-breathe. Can you do that? Breathe with me."

You focus on the words, wrapping your mind around each one and following them. A few more breaths and you finally lift your head a little.

"That's good, you're doing good." It's a man sitting next to you, breathing with you, helping you as everyone else around continues on like normal.

Another minute and it's getting easier to breathe and you can feel some of the fear uncoiling. "Thank you," you manage to say.

"You needed help," he shrugs a little, but he doesn't stop looking at you, maybe making sure you're not going to keel over onto the sidewalk. "Do you have those often?"

"Panic attacks?"

He nods, and you'd be uncomfortable telling a stranger about your mental health, but it's probably okay to tell him, he did just stay with you and help you through it. "It's become more recent, I guess. I think it's just stress." The stress of being followed, of being watched and stalked like some kind of animal, of your home being broken into... Yeah, you're pretty sure it's just stress.

"You should take better care of yourself," he says deadpan.

"Yeah, I guess. I just, I feel like I'm going insane." It must be some sort of insanity that you feel compelled to talk to him. "I think I'm being followed, but it's been weeks of feeling like this, so maybe it's just me?"

The man tenses a little. "Have you talked to anyone about it yet?"

"I don't know what good it would do, it's not like I have any proof."

"Still," he stands up. "You'd probably feel safer if you stayed elsewhere or had friends with you."

"W-wait!" You stand up after him and introduce yourself. "Thank you for your help, again, I don't know what I would've done..." You trail off, feeling awkward for taking up more of his time.

"It's fine, I'm glad you're feeling better." He gives you a small smile before walking away.

You are feeling a lot better. He's right, you probably should talk to someone - oh, you forgot to ask for his name!

---

It doesn't subside, it almost seems to get worse. You've been spending nights away from home, and the presence of another person does help, but you can't shake the feeling that it's still there, in the corner of your eye, right behind your shoulder, you just can't catch it.

There's a heaviness in the pit of your stomach when you finally have to go home. You've spent a night with everyone you can, and you don't want to infringe on their kindness more than you have to.

Nothing's happened, you remind yourself as you get ready for bed. You still feel sick, but nothing has happened. You'll wake up tomorrow feeling fine.

---

A voice cuts into your dreams, and it's so familiar, you can almost name it. You try to remember, but your eyes open in the dark room and the voice is still there.

You shoot upright, a strangled noise tries to leave your throat but then you can't say anything.

The man, the one from weeks ago, he's in your home. He's in your bedroom, right in front of you.

"See? Now that's disappointing. I've been here for," he checks his phone and the bright light illuminates him for a moment. "Ten minutes. And I've been talking the whole time." He sits on the edge of the bed next to you, and he doesn't try to reach for you when you flinch away. "For as scared as you seem, you sleep rather deeply." He turns towards you, his hands settling on either side of you. "You were even snoring."

He says it like a joke, like something you both can laugh about. You feel blood rushing to your face in embarrassment. "Get out." It's not forceful, it's weak and soft and you know as soon as you say it that you're fucked.

—

There's something that's been itching along Ren's spine most of the day. It's on the tip of his fingers, settles itself on the edge of his teeth - like how animals can sense storms, there's a warning that he just can't understand.

It leads him to hurry, rushing through his daily errands and tasks so he can just get home sooner. He checks the time before he calls you. You don't pick up and dread curdles in his stomach.

You don't pick the phone up often, he tries to reason, he's the only one calling and you're too petty to pick up most of the time. But the dread doesn't subside, it sticks to his insides like mud.

There's nothing amiss when he reaches the front door, but as he opens it the smell of blood hits him. It smells like a year ago, it smells like the basement, like when -

He rushes in, calling your name. The scent is too strong to mean anything but the worst, he knows that, but he tries again. You don't reply, and that's just like you to ignore him when he's worried, when he's nearly in tears and desperate for comfort.

Ren finds you in the tub. You're so pale, nearly sinking into pink bathwater. The smell of soap and copper assaults him when he grabs you, and his head starts to ache as he drags you onto the tile floor. Your skin is freezing, and you don't wake even when he nearly drops you beside him.

And he's been around enough dead people to know what they look like. What they smell like. But he shakes you anyway. "What did you do to yourself?!" He whines, and it breaks the dam and he's crying. "What did you do, what did you do?!"

But you don't say anything back. You don't wake up.

⁠—

Your smile doesn’t even falter when you stab Izuku. He clenches your arms as you press the trigger and he thinks he can feel the liquid spill into his veins. It’s a muscle paralyzer of some sort, he realizes a second too slow as his hands drop from you, too heavy to even lift.

It’s quiet, you’re probably counting down the seconds till it’s in full effect. Of course, the effects will wear off just as soon. There’s not a lot that’ll keep him down for too long. But you must’ve been counting on that. You place a hand on his chest to steady yourself as you climb off his lap and let out a shaky sigh. “Just… to be clear. I’m breaking up with you.”

A weak laugh leaves Izuku, but he can feel tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

“And I don’t love you, I never have.”

This is probably the most honest you’ve ever been to him.

He’s not stupid. He knows you aren’t a good person. Between failed operations, and cases that went wrong just in the nick of time… He has always, always known that you were the cause of it. But, even with all of the evidence, even with his own gut, he still loved you. “That’s not true,” he can barely talk but he can’t let you go like this. “We-”

You lean in, pressing a finger against his mouth. “Listen, baby, why make this more difficult than it already is? Let me leave you with… fond memories,” You scoff. “I mean, it was good, right? You liked what we had, didn’t you?” 

“I love you.” He says before you leave, and it’s true. Everything, all the lost time, and the suspects gone missing, and all of the failures, everything is his fault. But he still loves you.

You shrug. “So?”

You leave him there. And he hurts. His heart aches and he can’t run after you, he can’t find you and love you and - he just feels so guilty. He could’ve saved you. He should’ve been strong enough to pull you out of the muck and into his arms.

—

"This is borderline disturbing."

You can't help but agree with your coworker's sentiment. Your new case had barely been in your hands this week before Spiderman had found and brought the criminal straight to you. The man is limp, hanging from the web in front of your office. There's a box, more securely attached to the web, probably filled with all the evidence you'll need. This is the third one this month alone.

Sounds like someone's got a crush on you, someone had laughed the second time, but nobody's really laughing now.

"I guess we should cut him down now," you finally say.

---

Like all the other times, there's a hidden polaroid in your apartment when you get home. It's just a picture of the criminal from this morning, but on the back Spiderman's written you a sweet little note.

Skimming it, it's about the same as always. He's watching you, keeping you safe, thought this would make you happy - make you not have to work so much. There's a need bleeding through the words, it's only a matter of time before helping you out won't be enough.

—

Izuku has lived his life feeling like a villain. He isn't, of course, he wants nothing more than to be a hero, but with a quirk like his...

It gets worse as he gets older. There is no meeting All Might, there is no UA, there are no friends.

He barely gets by with part time jobs, it's hard to find work where you can be completely isolated. Nobody wants to work with him once they find out about his quirk.

Even though he's so desperately lonely, he does his best to leave people alone. It's better to choose this than rejection.

And he's tried to be better, tried to control his quirk, but it's a squirming tangle under his skin and whatever it is, it's stronger than him.

Really, is it any surprise that Izuku becomes a little obsessed with you, a rookie hero, when you save him?

You smile at him afterwards, checking to make sure he's okay before you check on the others involved, but it felt like so much more. It feels special.

Izuku is just as big a fanboy for heroes as he ever was, if not more, so it's very easy to find out who you are, your quirk, your workplace. And with a little more searching, he finds out where you live, your private social media, everything.

He's not trying to be a creep, he already knows how repulsive he is, but the info is there. It's not like he's doing anything illegal, it's all online if you know what to look for.

And when he starts following you? It's harder to reason that out, harder to keep back disgusting feelings of guilt and shame.

It's a cruel irony when he realizes how easy it is to follow you with his quirk. Something between there and not-there, tendons and mist.

Maybe he was meant to be a villain, this is the first time in his life he's cooperated with his quirk enough to control it.

But even with everything that he's done, he never planned on taking it further. And it really, really is a complete accident when he fuses with you.

Izuku didn't even know he could do that, how was he supposed to stop it?

It was another villain attack, and you were going to get hurt. Izuku's watched and researched and strategized so much, he knows you're going to get hurt when the villain gets too close. So he jumps forward, to shield you, to protect you somehow.

And suddenly, he's in you.

He can hear your thoughts like they're his own.

Can you hear his?

Legs that aren't his are running as he runs. Fingers twitching as his thoughts fly, he's barely had a second in your body and already he knows what to do.

He's seen this villain on the news, he knows how they operate, and he knows how you operate. He knows everything about you. Anything unknown is now in his mind, and he uses you to fight the villain off.

It's perfect, you're perfect.

You're so much more efficient with him at the helm.

—

Nathan's a nice enough guy, he's never given you a reason to be nervous around him. But even so, there's just something... Something kind of dark, a little hidden. You're not sure exactly what it is - it's like it's in the corner of your eye and when you try to focus on it, it's gone.

But, he never does anything to make you sure that something really is off about him. So you let it go, and when he eventually asks you out on a date, you say yes.

Which becomes yes to the second date, and the third, and the fourth. You can tell he's interested in you, but he hasn't made a big deal about labels or anything. It's great, 'cause sure, you like sex, you like having fun, and you like being in a relationship, but it's nice to have something easy and chill.

When you finally invite him in, it feels like an okay choice. Maybe not a great one, but an okay one. Something you probably won't really regret, he's an alright guy. He's clean, polite enough to everyone around him, and he really does seem to listen when you talk. So that's cool, that's fine. You're still getting the vibe that something's off, but it's not like you can prove it.

You invite him inside your home, and he seems almost grateful, in shock a little. Like he never imagined you would actually do that. And one thing leads to another, and suddenly you and him are on your bed. Clothes being torn off, kissing, touching, everything is fine. It feels nice, it feels almost good.

But then Nathan catches your eye, and you see on his face an expression you've never seen before. It's kind of wild, a desperation lining his brow and his mouth as he touches you, runs his hands up and down your sides, touching touching touching so much skin.

He asks you before he pushes into you, and why are you so scared? But you say yes, you can't back out now. He fucks odd, it's either too slow or too fast, nothing in between. Like he's trying to figure you out, like he's trying to hold himself together. He grips your hips hard, but then switches to your face, cradling you as he kisses you and leaves a trail of wet kisses down to the hollow of your throat.

You can't get rid of that feeling, the creeping dread, the surety that something bad will happen.

It's over soon enough for him, but he insists on getting you off as well, even though you tell him it's not a big deal - and it's really not the worst thing, you can always just do it later when he leaves - but he's insistent, almost begging, and you finally allow it.

His hands are hesitant, but he's eager enough, and when you finally cum he looks at you like you've made the sun rise. It's uncomfortable. Why is he looking at you like that?

You can't stand it. You tell him thanks, that was fun. It was a little fun, maybe not for a second time though, you're not really sure now, but you don't tell him that. But even with the clear dismissal, he lays next to you, gathering you up in his arms, clinging to you. He kisses your forehead, talks about how much he likes you, how excited he is for what's going to happen next.

—

“You’re not a medic.”

Dr. O'Deorain’s face pulls into an almost condescending look as she walks closer to your side. “No, but I am the only person available.” She takes a look at your mangled leg, fingers ghosting over it as you shake, before she turns to grab some gloves.

“Stop, please.” There are so many stories, so many rumors surrounding her, and you don’t know what’s true and what’s not, but it doesn’t stop your fear. “I don’t consent to this, I don’t want you -” She glances at you, allowing you to see the needle her in hand, and your voice shudders to a stop.

“You’d rather lose your leg?”

It’s not really a question, but your voice is stuck in your throat as she comes back to your side.

She laughs a little when you look away. “Don’t worry,” her hand clamps down on your leg, sharp nails digging in your skin to hold you in place. “I’ll be gentle.” And she stabs the needle into your thigh.

You cry out in pain, but whatever was in there has an almost immediate reaction. You can feel something warm enveloping you from the inside out, and the pain subsides to almost nothing. You slip from your seated position on the bed till your laying against the pillows.

“Feel better?” Dr. O'Deorain asks, her smile is entirely too smug but you can’t hold that against her. You do feel better.

You try to nod, it takes almost too much effort and feels much too slow.

“What a good patient you are,” she praises before she starts to stitch your skin back together. 

The curved needle strings through your flesh and you can’t help but watch a little curiously. You can feel it, and in the back of your head you know this should hurt, but whatever she gave you has taken all of that away. “I thought…”

Mismatched eyes meet yours. “Hmm?”

“I thought you were like Dr. Ziegler.”

You let out a breath as her hands still against your leg. “Oh, in what way?”

“Don’t you use biotics? Wouldn’t that be better than…” you gesture to your leg but your hand just flops a little in her direction.

She smirks. “Dr. Ziegler and I have differing medical ideals. Besides, this will be a reminder for you.”

“… For me?”